


A Gift of Catharsis

by r_grayjoy



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: daily_deviant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_grayjoy/pseuds/r_grayjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve two years after the end of the war, and Remus doesn't want to spend the holiday alone and depressed at home.  Then he stumbles across someone else who seems to feel the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift of Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Daily Deviant's Kinky Kristmas in December 2006 for karasu_hime. Karasu had asked for: dirty talk, over-the-table!sex, bottom!Snape, slightly-out-of-control!Remus; "Remus is transfixed by Severus' nape and can't help himself"

  
**A Gift of Catharsis**   


Remus stood in the Muggle London street, the frozen slush that had been freshly fallen snow earlier in the day seeping into his worn shoes, and contemplated the darkened house before him. It was Christmas Eve -- for another hour or two, at any rate -- and his patched and frayed cloak did little to keep the chill at bay. A biting wind whipped strands of his graying hair about his face and twisted the length of his robes around his legs.

Remus had spent the better part of the day at the Burrow with the extended Weasley family, which of course had included Harry and Hermione. Molly had insisted, as had Harry, and Remus had been pleased to accept their invitation. It had been genuinely good to see them all so well and content without the spectre of the Dark Lord hanging over their lives. The war had ended more than two years ago. Voldemort was dead, permanently this time, and his surviving followers had long since been rounded up by Aurors or scattered to the four winds. The victors had mourned their losses and moved on with living. For them, each new day without threat of oppression or fear of attack was a celebration of their triumph.

The war had ended more than two years ago, and many things had changed, yet the inescapable fact remained that Remus Lupin was still very much alone. Oh, he had a number of friends who cared for him a great deal, and for that he was eternally thankful. He had passed the last several hours in the company of the majority of them, in fact, talking and laughing and basking in the warm, comfortable glow that the holiday season brings. But at the end of the day, when they'd started to pair off into couples or separate into their smaller family groups, Remus had begun to feel out of place, and he'd known that it was time to gracefully take his leave.

However, he hadn't wanted to return to his own small house just yet. When it came right down to it, Remus didn't want to spend Christmas day alone and depressed at home. So after leaving the Burrow, he'd traveled to a far more appropriate place to be alone and depressed on Christmas. Number twelve, Gimmauld Place was gloomy and oppressive at the best of times. Now, speckled with grimy snow and utterly devoid of holiday cheer, the dilapidated structure was downright macabre.

Stifling a sigh, Remus trudged across the frozen ground to the front door of the house. He considered the chipped and peeling black paint for a few moments, then drew his wand from his pocket. A simple _Alohomora_ gained him entry; no one had bothered to keep up the wards once the war had ended. Pushing the door open, he silently made his way into the entry hall.

The portrait of the late Mrs. Black had long since been removed, so there was no reason to keep quiet here, yet the deathly stillness of the house was so complete that it felt as though it should not be disturbed. Remus fought down an inane urge to giggle and ask the darkness, "Why are we whispering?" and instead removed his cloak and carefully hung it on the coat rack.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Remus realized that the darkness was not as complete as he had initially thought. A thin sliver of light shone from beneath the door leading down to the basement kitchen. Blinking twice to ensure that he wasn't imagining things, Remus wondered who could possibly be here so late, on Christmas Eve no less. Hardly anyone ever came here anymore now that it was no longer needed as a base of operations of the Order, and certainly no one spent their holidays in the dismal place.

Overcome by curiosity and the utter lack of anything better to do, Remus moved to the door, carefully turned the knob, and slowly pulled the heavy door open. He paused at the threshold and listened intently but heard no sound to indicate what could be taking place in the kitchen below. Shrugging to himself, he made his way down the narrow staircase until the kitchen came into view.

What he saw there made him come to a complete and abrupt stop in the entryway. Sitting motionless at the long dining table was a thin, dark man who could be none other than Severus Snape. He had his elbows on the table top and his head cradled in his hands so that his face was mere inches from the table's worn surface. A curtain of lank, black hair twisted around his splayed fingers and fell to conceal his features. A crystal tumbler sat at his elbow, and a bottle of firewhiskey that was more empty than full was within arm's reach. A score of candles scattered about the room provided the source of the light that Remus had spotted from the entry hall.

Snape's betrayal of the Dark Lord in the last moments of the war had come as a complete surprise to everyone on both sides. After the death of Albus Dumbledore, there had no longer been any doubt regarding where his loyalties had lain, and thus he had placed himself in precisely the right position to protect Harry and assist in bringing about Voldemort's fall when the time came. Most members of the wizarding community believed that Snape had merely acted in what he thought to be his own best interest, switching sides only when it the one he was on appeared to be losing. However, letters and Pensive memories left behind by Dumbledore combined with testimony provided by McGonagall, Moody, and eventually by Harry Potter himself were finally able to clear his name after months of harrowing trials before the Wizengamot.

Remus had not seen Snape himself since the trials had ended, although he had heard from Minerva that Snape had grown even more reclusive and withdrawn than he'd been previously, if such a thing was possible. Seeing the dark figure bent over the table now, Remus was inclined to suspect that Minerva's assessment had been accurate. He could only wonder what it had been like for Snape, so deep under cover in the final year of the war that there had been no one remaining who knew his true allegiances; that anyone on his own side would have gladly hexed him on sight; that he'd had no ties to the Order, no allies on either side, no one he could trust or rely upon save him, and no one to whom he could turn if everything went to Hell in a hand basket with the Death Eaters.

Still standing at the edge of the kitchen, Remus knew that he should speak or clear his throat or do _something_ to alert Snape of his presence, but something had caught his attention and now held him in thrall. As Snape sat hunched forward, his hair fell and parted in such a way as to expose the pale nape of his neck It would have been such a trivial, commonplace thing on anyone else, but Snape had always kept himself so carefully buttoned up and concealed that the exposure of this small length of skin seemed intensely erotic and intimate. Remus couldn't seem to tear his eyes from it, and something turned over in his chest that made his breath hitch.

Snape must have heard the sharp intake of breath. He looked up slowly and his eyes, slightly dulled from drink, bore into Remus. " _Lupin._ " Snape spat the name as though it were a curse. "What are you doing here?"

Remus had to give Snape credit; although his gaze might have been a touch glassy-eyed, his speech was as clear and biting as ever, containing not a hint of a slur. Quirking an eyebrow in challenge, Remus answered with, "I do believe I've just as much right to be here as you do, Severus." He spoke in the calm, amiable tone of voice that was always sure to infuriate Snape.

However, Snape apparently decided that it would require too much effort to argue. He merely lowered his head back into his hands and muttered, "Very well. You have free run of the rest of the house. The kitchen is mine. Now bugger off."

When Snape's head fell forward, his neck was once again exposed, and Remus was overcome by lurid images of himself biting down on that pale expanse of flesh and claiming Snape as his own. Disturbed by his powerful and unexpected response to a simple patch of skin, he forced such thoughts away and tried again to get a reaction out of Snape. "And leave you alone on the holidays? Oh, I couldn't possibly do that," he said in positively the most disgustingly jovial tone he could muster.

Heaving a weary sigh, Snape lifted his head and looked at Remus once more. "What do you want, Lupin?" he asked in a dispassionate tone. "It's clear you aren't going to allow me a moment's peace until you get whatever it is you want from me, so let's dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?"

Thoroughly taken aback by Snape's utter apathy, Remus could only stand in the entryway and stare dumbly for a few moments. Of all the reactions to his presence that he might have expected from Snape, listless detachment wasn't among them. Granted, Snape's open hostility toward him had always saddened Remus, but this was hardly an improvement. Seeing this tired and defeated version of Snape left him feeling unsettled, as though the world had gone mad somehow.

Remus was oddly compelled then to provoke Snape, to stir him up a bit, to get him to behave like _Snape_ , and he chose not to examine his motives too closely. Taking a few casual steps into the kitchen, he resumed his blithe demeanor and said, "'Pleasant?' I'm fairly certain you've never been 'pleasant' a day in your life, Severus. Irascible, perhaps. Acerbic, certainly. Often sardonic--"

"I get. The point." Snape ground out the words between clenched teeth, and Remus felt a small thrill of something akin to victory.

"Vicious, surly, ill-mannered, anti-social," Remus continued listing as he rounded the table and approached Snape. "Arrogant, disagreeable, offensive, insufferable--"

" _Enough!_ " Snape surged to his feet, and the chair in which he had been sitting overturned. Fists clenched, he spun to face Remus and shouted, "What in the nine sodding hells do you want from me, you deranged lycanthrope?!" Yet for all that Snape appeared to be shaking with rage, his eyes were hollow, his gaze pleading, and in that instant Remus knew what Severus needed… and what he, himself, wanted.

In answer, Remus' arms shot out to grab fistfuls of the front of Snape's robes and hauled Snape forward. Before Snape could regain his balance, Remus forcefully pressed his full lips to Snape's thin ones. Snape made a startled sound of protest and tried to pull away, but the fingers twisted in the fabric of his robes held him fast. Remus continued the bruising kiss, growling low in his throat, and at last Snape began to respond. Snape's lips parted, and Remus immediately darted his tongue between them, exploring his old adversary's mouth and reveling in the taste of firewhiskey and tumeric and desperation and defiance. Fisting one hand in Remus' shaggy hair, Severus responded in kind.

The meeting of lips and tongues and teeth was not gentle or skillful, and indeed it was less a kiss than it was a competition, a struggle for dominance. For a few moments Remus was sorely tempted to allow Snape to take the lead, but he realized that wasn't what Snape wanted or needed. At this moment, in an odd way, Snape was seeking his punishment, absolution, and acceptance in Remus, and Remus found that he desperately wanted to give it to him. With this knowledge, he intensified his attack on Snape's mouth, determined to prove that he had it within him to give what he was offering.

Spinning them both around, Remus slammed Snape hard against the dresser, unmindful of the dishes that clattered in protest within. He scarcely allowed Severus the time to gasp in a ragged breath before he was on him again, kissing, licking, claiming. Rapidly he worked his way from Snape's mouth to his gaunt jaw line and down his throat, and Snape's hands flailed wildly for a moment then clamped like vices on Remus' shoulders. Snape seemed to be struggling to steady himself, his mouth shut tight against undignified and revealing sounds that might issue forth, and Remus wanted all the more to cause him to give up his formidable control.

Growing impatient, Remus reached for the sundry fastenings of Snape's robes, and he felt Snape instantly tense. The sudden resistance was frustrating, but Remus knew that the foundations of Snape's reserve and distrust were decades old, and that Remus himself had helped to build them. He also had an idea as to how he might break through them now and give Snape license to let go of his façade for a little while, if only Remus could be bold enough to do it.

Abandoning Snape's attire for the time being, Remus slid his arms around Snape and leaned in close, trapping him tightly against the dresser. He moved his hips forward, deliberately allowing his erection to dig into Snape's thigh, letting him know wordlessly that he _wanted_ this encounter, wanted _him_. In a low, ardent tone he hissed, "Severus," drawing out the sibilant sounds of Snape's name. Speaking close to Snape's ear, Remus murmured, "Want you. Going to have you, and you won't stop me. I'm going to open your robes so I can feel your hot skin, so I can explore every inch of you with my hands and tongue. I'm going to show you what lovely, wicked things I can do with my mouth, then I'm going to make you beg me for more. And _then_ I'm going to take you until you shatter. I'm going to mark you, claim you, make you come undone, make you forget your own fucking _name_ , make you forget _everything_ but this."

His restraint finally disintegrated, Snape moaned, a rich, desperate sound rising up from his core. Remus bit down on the flesh of Snape's neck hard enough to mark, and again reached for the buttons and ties that held Snape's garments closed. All at once they both fell upon each other, tearing at fastenings, fumbling with buttons in a frenzied race to remove the layers of clothing that separated them. A sound of ripping fabric was disregarded, a flying button ignored.

As soon as both sets of robes were opened, Remus leaned in and molded his body to Snape's. Snape hissed at the initial meeting of flesh, then grunted as Remus ground their erections together. The heat was exquisite, Snape's unexpected responsiveness beyond arousing, and it would have been all too easy for Remus to continue rocking his hips, to frot madly against Snape, to lose himself in their combined need, but that wasn't what he'd offered Snape, and he was determined to follow through with all of his divine threats and lewd promises.

Sliding his hands between them, Remus ran his palms down Snape's chest and stomach, delighting in the shiver that coursed through Snape at his touch. His mouth followed in his hands' wake, kissing, licking, sucking a trail along collar bones, across ribs, pausing to tease a nipple into hardness before continuing down stomach, waist, hips. He was careful to pay attention to every part before him, yet very soon found himself kneeling before Snape at eye level with his jutting, leaking prick.

Glancing up, Remus saw that Snape, normally so pale, was deeply flushed, his breath ragged. The open expression of amazement and hunger on Snape's face roused something feral in Remus. Holding Snape's gaze, he slowly dragged his tongue along the underside of Snape's cock and was richly rewarded when Snape groaned and dropped his head back against the dresser with an audible _thunk_. Taking Snape into his mouth, he swirled his tongue around the tip, tasting the salty flavor of the fluid there, before swallowing more of Snape's length and sucking in earnest. He brought one hand up to cup Snape's bollocks and used the other to stoke the base of his shaft as he lick-suck-bobbed forward and back. Snape wove his fingers into Remus' hair and the sounds, oh sweet Merlin, the glorious _sounds_ Snape made were nearly enough to drive Remus over the edge of insanity, make him come entirely untouched, and his patience for the preliminaries quickly waned.

Remus released Snape and stood, and Snape gasped at the sudden lack of contact. Grabbing Snape by his robes again, Remus whirled him away from the dresser, turned him, and shoved him down onto the table. The crystal firewhiskey glass toppled over and rolled off the table, hitting the floor with a crash. In hurried, jerky motions, Remus tore the last of Snape's clothes from his body, then quickly placed a firm hand between his shoulder blades, holding him down against the hard wood.

Snape had never been a handsome man, but here, spread out wantonly over the dining table by the light of two dozen candles, Remus though he was the most tempting feast upon which he had ever laid eyes. Snape's hair had tumbled forward in tangled disarray, leaving the nape of his neck exposed once more. Remus couldn't resist bending over to run his tongue along that alluring expanse of flesh, his cock nudging into the furrow of Snape's arse.

Spotting the nearby bottle of firewhiskey, Remus drew his wand and turned it to lubricant, silently thanking Merlin that Transfiguration had been one of his better subjects in school. Grasping the bottle and upendeding it, he poured a generous amount of the thick fluid over his cock and drizzled it between Severus' arse cheeks. Then, tossing the bottle aside, he leaned over Snape and commanded in a hoarse voice, "Tell me you want this. Say it."

"Yes…" Snape hissed, the word barely audible.

"Tell me. _Beg_ me."

"Please… Fuck, Lupin, just do it! Please!"

That was all the encouragement Remus required. Without further preamble, he took his slick cock in hand and guided it, pressed it into Snape, past the tight ring of muscle and on and on forever, sheathing himself in one slow slide. He froze in place then, willing himself not to thrust as he allowed Severus a few moments to adjust, until Snape finally demanded, "Lupin, for the love of god, _move_!"

Lupin obliged. Holding Snape in place against the table top, he slid all the way out and back in again forcefully, feeling the delicious slap of his bollocks against Snape's arse. He repeated the process, and again, and again, gaining speed until his punishing thrusts threatened to move the table across the dining room floor. He held Snape by the hips hard enough to bruise and pulled him backwards over and over.

Snape's fingers clawed the surface of the table, seeking purchase as he shoved back in counterpose to Remus' thrusts. His reserve broken at last, he grunted and groaned and writhed shamelessly, nonsense sounds that weren't quite words spilling past his lips to urge Remus on. Remus knew that he couldn't last long at this pace, and he somehow managed to summon enough sensibility to slide one hand down and around to firmly grasp Snape's rigid shaft.

Pulling roughly in time with his thrusts, he concentrated on not coming, chanting an internal litany of _no, not yet, wait, come on Severus, just a little more, come on, wait, wait…_ For the span of three heartbeats Snape stilled, not even breathing as every muscle in his body tensed, and then he was wailing his release, coming in hard, racking spurts. Hot spunk flowed over Remus' fist as Snape clenched around his cock. It was too much, and with one, two, three more short thrusts Remus was coming as well, shouting his climax and spilling himself into Snape.

As the tremors subsided, Remus collapsed atop Snape, drained and nearly insensible. He couldn't say how long he lay there, regaining his breath and luxuriating in the simple pleasure of a warm body beneath him. Finally Snape shifted, no doubt uncomfortable sandwiched between Remus and the hard table. Recalling then exactly upon whom he was ungracefully sprawled, Remus moved off Snape immediately, suddenly wary.

Slowly, Snape slid from the edge of the table and leaned against it, lank hair falling to conceal his face, and Remus braced himself, expecting to very shortly be on the receiving end of the Snape's considerable ire. When Snape finally turned his head, Remus was amazed to see not an expression of anger, but one of guarded perplexity. Many things flashed across his eyes, too quickly for Remus to make most of them out, and Snape quietly asked, "How. How did you know? _Why_?"

Before Remus could even begin to provide answers to the complicated questions, the grandfather clock in the room above began signaling the hour. Midnight. Remus and Snape looked at each other and held their breath, suspended in the surreal moment. When the twelfth chime had struck and the resonant sound faded into silence, Remus smiled. "Happy Christmas, Severus."


End file.
